This week was… simple, to say the least. I am pretty positive I still haven’t done really any academic work since Monday, which is probably not a good thing. I am still just spending time slowing down, which is necessary. Life will speed back up again, I am just going to enjoy the jog until it does. Nothing was really going on all week, so it made for a good week to just be intentional with those around me. I dig that I am in a community and atmosphere that allows me to do that.
Thursdays are always my favorite day, but this one was special in new ways. No, it was not just because of the theme meal, which unfortunately didn’t meet many expectations, or the fact that I got my summer staff assignment email. Thursday was special because we branded it; we did something to give it a new name in our stories.
The three of us sat there, thinking of something to do. Of course, we couldn’t figure anything out, and were scared of venturing into the cold anyways, so we decided we would just stay in and not do anything. The silence didn’t last long until a friend shared her heart with us. She shared the significance of the day in her story. How many memories it brought back, why the day was so significant, and the expectations that the day didn’t meet. She laid her heart out for us to see. An undeserved glimpse into a broken story that is being restored. We sat there, silence between us, tears in our eyes, because nothing was going to pave over the rocky story we had just heard. I couldn’t sit still. We had to do something.
I read in Donald Miller’s A Million Miles in a Thousand Years (2nd best book ever, read it if you know what’s good for you) about a friend of Donald’s, Bob, who makes memorable scenes in his story by doing things that will brand the day. I am all about that idea, and I am even more about celebrating loved ones lives well. So, the idea hit me.
“Get into warm clothes. We’re going somewhere.” The three of us dropped everything, layered up, called a few friends who weren’t with us, and briskly fleeted to the car. We picked up the other friends and headed towards the ocean. It was 11:30, we had 30 minutes to make it to the beach and still have it be February 3rd. The drive takes about an hour, there wasn’t any physical way we would make it, but we sure acted like we could (Mom, if you’re reading this, don’t worry, I didn’t speed. I am your safe daughter.).
The car ride was beautiful. We listened to music, but most of the time, we turned it down. We celebrated life together, despite how tired we were getting. We celebrated my friends life by affirming why she means so much to us. We laughed, we sang, we danced, we got lost in the ghetto, we did everything that makes us feel human. We finally arrived to a deserted Virginia Beach, even more deserted than it usually is. It was about 12:15, but in our books, it was still February 3rd. I parked the car and we all got out, blanket in hand, with no plan but just to be there. As soon as our feet hit the sand, we ran. We ran in circles, screamed, laughed, jumped and ran towards the water.
We stood there in the freezing wind, and watched the fine line between the sky and the ocean at night. We felt small. We felt real. We felt beautiful. We huddled up, under blankets, and prayed to thank God for the beautiful life of our friend. We agreed and thanked Him for the big plans he has for her, and how much she has impacted our story. We cried, we laughed, we hugged. We talked about the bigger plan, and how we were all here for that. We felt real. We were real.
We stood there for a little while longer, then got back into the car. On the way back, we couldn’t steer conversation far from the night, how glad we were that we had gotten up and done that, and how much things like that mean to us. Celebrating friends lives, all the nasty stuff that stinks to bring up, and all the joy in new hope were the themes of the scene. All of us were there, with separate stories, intertwined in the last year, with scenes waiting to be made memorable. We branded the day with fresh joy, so we could always look back and remember why February 3rd means so much to us. We weren’t going to remember it by just doing something ordinary.
Donald Miller once said “A good movie has memorable scenes, and so does a good life.” That’s what I want. Scenes in my story that are going to be symbolic, unusual, real, and memorable, and sometimes, you just have to drive to the edge of the earth to make them that way.
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